


Allison Argent's Archery Gloves

by gala_apples



Series: An Alphabet of Teen Wolf Crossovers [22]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Warehouse 13
Genre: Background Relationships, Case Fic, Crossover, Gen, Magical Artifacts, Post Series, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an out of control artifact pings in Beacon Hills, Claudia and Steve fly down to check it out. They're unaware that there's a little more magic involved than just an object imbued with the essence of an event, and they probably wouldn't believe it if someone told them. After all, Artie's not going to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allison Argent's Archery Gloves

Claudia’s not wasting time spinning on Thomas Jefferson’s swivel chair. Just because she’s tucked her feet under her legs and is letting the chair spin faster and faster doesn’t mean she’s wasting her time. As the lowliest Warehouse staff member -because for some reason it goes by age, not seniority, in which case she’d kick Steve’s ass- it’s her job to figure out where a newly recovered artifact should go. Sitting on said artifact is just going to help her think about where it belongs.

Or at least that’s the story she’s got concocted for Artie, should he find her fooling around. Such as is happening now. Before she can get a word out, he raises his eyebrows over his undersized glasses. “You have a wise word to get out of that?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just got aerosolized goo.” She does in fact have a few ideas prepared for the spinny chair that won’t stop turning until you tell it something as good as the Declaration of Independence that was conceived in it, but she’s not sure if they’ll meet the chair’s standards. It never hurts to have back-up goo.

“Well, spray it and get up. There’s a ping for you and Steve.”

Claudia makes a face. Not that Artie can really see it clearly, the chair’s going roller coaster fast now. “You think maybe me and Pete should go? Pete and Myka have taken the break up kind of awkwardly.”

“They’re both going to be agents for as long as 13 is around. They’re going to have to get used to it.”

“Like Professor X and Magneto?” Claudia asks. She thinks she’s showing remarkable restraint in not name-dropping MacPherson.

Artie doesn’t even answer that. “The ping’s in Beacon Hills, California. They don’t have an airport, you’ll be flying into Sacramento and driving from there. Steve’s picking the rental.”

“Fine!” Claudia’s not actually upset. She can probably talk Jinksy into getting something cool.

Six hours later, in a decidedly uncool Honda, Claudia pulls over and parks. She frowns a little. “Plan One’s a bust.”

“Your Plan One of strolling through the woods until something starts shooting at us and then we use the backpack sprinkler of goo to neutralise it? Yeah, I think so.” For such a zen guy, Steve’s remarkably good at snark.

“How was I supposed to know there were ten million woods? This place should be called Beacon Forest.” Claudia would be willing to bet there are more trees than people in this county. It’s not like she has anything against nature in general. If people want deer to wander onto their lawns and eat their flowers, or owl screeching to keep them up at night, all the power to them. It’s just when it fucks with the task at hand that she is anti-nature.

“Plan Two- see if the high school has an archery club?”

“Better than strolling through the billion acre woods. I swear we’d find Pooh and Tigger before we found the artifact.”

At first look-through Beacon Hills High is a dead end. There’s nothing as obvious as a shrine to Poe with a quill missing from the case, or like Steve supposed, an archery club. The only potential lead is Coach Finstock. The man is weird enough that he seems a likely candidate for finding, then keeping an artifact. It’s on the fly personality profiling, nothing that would stand up with actual authorities, but thankfully nothing Warehouse Agents do goes anywhere, apart from the occasional Regent. So Claudia distracts the coach while Steve bags basically everything in his office -she can see him through the window- and neither of them have a speck of shame about it. Unfortunately, none of it creates the erratic sparks of a job well done.

“You owe me a round of drinks next open mic night, buddy,” she informs him as they head towards the visitors parking lot. Technically they’re supposed to sign out when they leave, but considering they didn’t sign in, it would be pretty pointless.

Steve makes a face from the passenger’s side of the car. Claudia loves him like a brother, but the man is a cheapskate of legendary proportions. “Come on, Claudia. He couldn’t have been that bad?”

“Excuse you,” she replies with a perfect raised eyebrow. “He told me I could call him Cupcake. Do _you_ want to call him Cupcake?”

Steve winces and shakes his head. Claudia’s not surprised Finstock’s not his type. She used to think he was demisexual. Now she just thinks he’s repressed, gruff!Steve not letting campy!Steve sleep around like he wants to. At least both of his halves are still good people. Claudia would hate to see what would be revealed if Edna St. Vincent Millay’s candle had split her personality in two.

“Hospital next, maybe?”

Claudia shrugs. It’s as good a place as any.

Steve works the front desk like a boss. They don’t even need to flash their fake badges to get information, not with Steve’s pretty smile. Turns out the attending nurse on three quarters of the attacks was Melissa McCall. It’s a fact that generates instant suspicion in Steve as well as Claudia. Like arsonists who moonlight as firefighters, maybe she’s shooting people so she can help mend them. Maybe she’s found an artifact originally created by a parent with Munchausen By-Proxy, and half the recent illnesses and injuries of Beacon Hills will be her fault.

It’s a good theory, but weak in execution. McCall stays blank faced about the whole situation. Not a I Have Something To Hide blank-face, just I Have No Idea Why You’re Asking blank. Even when she’s clearly over being questioned it doesn’t seem like it’s because she’s run out of ways to spin her story and herself into safety. “Sheriff Stilinski has already asked me questions about if anything was similar about the cases... besides the shot with an arrow thing. I told him all I could think of. Maybe you should talk to him?”

“Thanks, mam. We will.”

They get a lot of looks on the way out. At first Claudia assumes it’s about the case. It would make sense for Beacon Hills civilians to be worried about being next, since as far as she can see there’s been no real pattern in the attacks. Yes, there’s been a spate of middle aged men and women, but there’s also been a bunch of teengers, and a few people in their twenties, and the range covers all races as well. Then she overhears a nurse saying that Melissa’s always been into authorities, look at her ex, and an orderly wondering back which one of them Melissa’s angling for. Claudia decides she’s ten percent flattered -because Melissa would be hot, if she was a lesbian- and eighty five percent annoyed -because she and Steve are clearly working, why would anyone assume there was flirting happening- and five percent neutral, because it’s not like she feels the need to vehemently oppose being considered into women.

“Lemme guess,” Claudia starts once they’re safely out of earshot. “She didn’t lie about not knowing what’s going on.”

“She did not. Should we try the Sheriff?”

“The actual cops never like us. Only Pete.” It’s total bullcrap that it’s still a straight boys club, but it’s the truth.

Claudia lets Steve grab the driver’s seat this time. Unlike some people she’ll leave unnamed -Artie- she’s perfectly fine with sharing the driving. Steve doesn’t put his foot to the gas immediately. Instead he shows kindness and compassion by letting her fuck with the radio knobs without having to strain against the seat belt. It’s not until she’s settled on something that sounds decently 90’s rock that Steve points at the glowing red seatbelt symbol on the dashboard with a pointed glance at her.

“What dead end do you want to try next?” It’s not that she’s resigned. It’ll take a few more days to really get to the point of FML. It’s more that she’s dropped the idea that they’ll wrap this up in twenty two minutes plus commercials.

“If we wait an hour it’ll be lunch time. We can find the local diner and ask loud questions about crossbows. Small town law says everyone has to have an opinion. We should also think about getting a hotel room. I have a bad feeling that this is gonna be one of the artifacts that takes days, not hours.”

See? She’s not just a negative nancy. Steve feels it too.

The diner that seems the most bustling is about a block from the high school. A town like this, like at home in Univille, everything is about a block from everything else. It’s one of the perks of cataloging the Warehouse; if it’s not literally bigger that the town, it’s at least far far easier to get lost in.

The sheriff might have the same plan of mining gossip. While they idle in the long take out line, he’s sitting on one side of a booth eating a salad like the lettuce killed his dog and the croutons punched his grandmother. Or maybe he’s just being fierce at the teenager sitting across from him. Son or snitch, either way the kid is fidgeting like he’d being grilled. Claudia recognises the moves from herself and Artie. 

The kid’s squirming might not have to do with the job. She doesn’t get vibes the way Pete does, she can’t know for sure. But she’s still got a feeling, and she’s been doing this long enough to trust those.

“Watch this,” Claudia whispers, not quite in Steve’s ear. Then she cranks her own volume to a perfect Spinal Tap eleven out of ten, and makes the loudness believable by adding incredulousness. “So the crime lab thinks the arrows are the same? Really?”

Sure enough, the kid perks up, automatically looking up at them before back at his plate. Ten seconds later he’s is out of his seat and at the counter, asking for a slice of peach pie. As the cashier takes it out, the kid ever-so-casually turns to them, leaning on the glass with an elbow. Claudia almost laughs in his face.

“So, I couldn't help but overhear. Your crime lab is studying the arrows in the recent shootings? What crime lab? Who do you work for?”

“The Secret Service.”

The kid looks genuinely shocked for a moment before suspicion glints in his eyes, but that is quickly hidden with fake, over the top shock. He’s got nothing on her when it comes to play acting. “What? The attacks have something to do with the President? Wow.”

“An individual related to a prominent member of the government has been threatened. It’s our job to track the threat. The United States takes threats of terrorism very seriously.”

Before Steve can any anything else, another staff member hands them their reubens and milkshakes. Claudia picks a table with a good view, and Steve sits so that he can cover the areas of the room she can’t, just in case. Claudia’s sure she’s right though. The kid is frowning as he goes back to his table, pie in hand. Once he sits, he and the Sheriff hold a whispered but heated conversation.

They enjoy their sandwiches -Northern California has a different idea of what could go on a reuben than South Dakota- but they both know that’s not really why they’re here. It’s why they go from savouring to devouring in a second flat when the Sheriff and the teenager get up to leave at the same time. By the time they’ve got the tip thrown on the table and have rushed outside, the Sheriff is pulling away in his marked car, and the teen’s fiddling with the rear-view mirror inside an eyesore of a black and powder blue Jeep.

“Follow the kid?”

“Follow the kid,” Steve agrees readily. After all, the Sheriff might know something, but the teenager definitely does.

The kid leads them to a condominium. He takes the stairs, thank god, it’s hard to be stealthy following someone into an elevator.

The second the kid closes the door of 202, Claudia slips in one of Edgar Villchur’s hearing aids, and gives Steve the other. If one of them was wearing both they’d be able to hear for miles in every direction, a cacophony of noise. With only one inserted the effect is drastically lessened and only works in the direction the ear is facing.

“I told you before, I don’t think this is hunters. Yes, many of your friends have been shot, but none of them were kill shots. Any hunter would kill Ethan, you know that as well as I.”

The reply is the voice of the teenager from the diner. “Just _think_. Are there any hunters who went after anyone in the government? Because Secret Service agents are in town asking about terrorists. My dad saw them and he said Scott’s mom talked to them, and Kira said she saw one of them talking to _Finstock_ for some reason.”

“Stiles, I’m not hiding information from you. If I knew I’d tell you. But I don’t know every hunter. There are more than Derek knows.”

Claudia’s torn. They know some names now. Even if they don’t have surnames she should be able to figure it out by association. But they also have two people that clearly know something about it trapped in a second floor condo. No window bailing on the second floor.

Alfred C Hobbs’ lockpicks are better than a key. 

Steve’s got her back, literally in this case, so Claudia has no problem walking into the middle of the living room, where Stiles and another man were standing arguing. “Want to tell us why a gang is shooting at random?”

Claudia’s expecting a few different reactions, depending on what combination of guilt and paranoia are present. Stiles laughing and pointing at the other man -tall, white, middle aged- and saying “I told you you guys are like a gang!” is not one of them.

Then Stiles twists back to her. “Wait, you said it was terrorists. But now you’re eavesdropping and saying it’s a gang? You don’t know anything, do you.”

“I know that-”

Claudia doesn’t get to finish. From out of nowhere a long haired girl shoves Steve against the wall, a few feet above the carpet. She proceeds to keep him held up with one hand despite his struggling, so she can pick his pockets. Claudia mentally runs through the super-strength artifacts she knows are still missing, but the girl’s not wearing or holding anything unusual.

“I don’t really know guns, but I think this gun is weird. Mr Argent?”

The man takes the Tesla from her. After examining it thoroughly he turns to Claudia. “I’ve never seen one. What creatures does it take down?”

Stiles shakes his head, like he’s disappointed. “Your guys’ etiquette is awful. When you visit you should really report with the Pack.”

They might have Steve’s gun, but they don’t have hers. Between the man and the girl with super strength Claudia’s hardly got the upper ground, but it’s not as uneven as it could be either. Especially since the man will probably decline to fire Steve’s until he knows how the gun works.

“Put Steve down and I won’t shoot you.”

“She doesn’t really care about getting shot,” Stiles replies jauntily.

Steve, who is ridiculously calm for someone who’s being pinned three feet off the ground, opens his mouth. Luckily his chest isn’t too compressed to speak. “Look. We’re not here to hurt anyone. I don’t know what you mean by creatures, but someone in Beacon Hills has an artifact that’s either making or helping them shoot people. We need to find it. We’ll leave once we do.”

Stiles perks up. “Is an artifact like a golem? Where’s Lydia when you need her, she’s got at least half the Bestiary memorised.”

Argent rolls his eyes. “Considering it’s my Bestiary, I think I know it better than Lydia.”

“And...”

“I don’t recall reading about artifacts.”

“It’s not a creature. It’s an object. A cursed object,” Steve further explains. “There are usually reasons people want to keep it, and negative side effects. For example, our boss once used Magellan’s astrolabe to turn back time twenty four hours and prevent a disaster, but the downside of the artifact is creating an evil dual personality in the user that slowly takes over and makes them commit acts of violence.” 

Stiles laughs a little hysterically and crosses his arms, unconsciously defending himself. Claudia can’t help but agree with the sentiment. Artie murdering Leena and then releasing the Chinese orchid plague to wipe out humanity fits into her top ten emotionally scarring events. It would probably make top five for a normal person, but her fundamental years were kind of a shit show.

“Malia, put the man down. We need to talk like adults.”

She listens to Argent, striking relief in Claudia’s heart. She then positions herself oddly, half in front of Stiles to shield him, but with her arm stretched behind her and wrist angled to touch his side. “Stiles and I aren’t leaving.”

“I didn’t say that. I said we need to talk. It’s easier to do that when the other party doesn’t feel the threat of death.”

Stiles laughs. “And it only took you how many decades to figure that out?”

Argent shoots Stiles a look. “Stop attacking to distract from your own perceived failings, and call Scott and Derek.”

Something here is going over their heads. Claudia can’t begin to guess what it is, and a glance at Steve is enough to know he doesn’t know either. But Stiles’ middle finger is scratching away the skin of his thumb under the nail, and his upper teeth are similarly pulling at his red lower lip. Malia glares brutally at Argent before rubbing her bent hand down Stiles’ back. Stiles accepts it seemingly gratefully for a minute before wrenching away.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. Calling Scotty it is.”

Talking like adults apparently means waiting for about five teenagers to skip school and show up at the condo.

Stiles handles the introductions in the wordy, casual way Claudia’s already beginning to get used to. “Hale-McCall Pack, meet magical government agents. Magical government agents, meet the motley Pack that swings from week to week between Hale and McCall leadership.”

“You keep saying pack, instead of group or gang or whatever.”

“That’s because we’re werewolves,” the brawny potato-faced guy says, rolling his eyes like Claudia should have figured that out herself.

“Not all of us,” the red haired girl clarifies. “But enough to use their colloquialisms. Lets not talk about us, I’ve heard enough about our problems to last a lifetime. You’re the Magical Bureau of Investigation or some such?”

“Not quite. We track artifacts.” Claudia should be explaining better, but the way Steve’s frowning means these people aren’t lying about being werewolves, and that’s kind of unsettling. It makes it hard to think about the job, knowing that an entire section of the horror genre is true.

“What are those?”

“Artifacts,” Steve explains for the second time, “are present when a major event happens. Like the Titanic going down. There’s so much heightened emotion, so much significance for the rest of the world, that the object is imbued with an impression of the event. Because of that it can act out in magical ways. To use the same example, there’s a piece of driftwood from the Titanic that when held and blown on, can induce hypothermia in another person. It’s not always evil, but it always affects people in ways they can’t control.”

“Chaotic neutral,” Stiles mutters.

“So the agency we’re actually from, we track down artifacts and neutralise them before storing them away safely.” Okay, and now she sounds like a tour guide, or someone dumbing it down for third graders on Career Day. Ugh. There has to be a middle ground, and she has to find it before she loses all these kids respect. If there’s one thing she knows about teenagers it’s that it’s easier to lose ground than gain it.

The latino boy raises his hand. Before Claudia can tell him he doesn’t actually have to do that, Stiles points at him and shouts out obnoxiously “Scott has a question!”

“What if the person needs it? The artifact, I mean.”

“Um. They don’t? There aren’t a lot of good reasons for sandals that calm you down so much your heart stops, or a typewriter that drains your will to live, or a knife that turns people to glass.”

Stiles makes the most perturbed face she’s ever seen. There’s recoiling and grimacing and yep, there’s the fingernail self-harming too. “Are you kidding? That is so useful! Do you know how many people in this town have died because of a few megalomaniacs and psychopaths? Do you know how much therapy I wouldn’t need if we could have stabbed Ms Blake with a glass knife before she kidnapped our parents and got me possessed by a revenge spirit?”

Claudia has no idea what Stiles is talking about, but it sounds intense. Still, it doesn’t change the facts. “Someone in your town has an artifact that makes someone essentially invisible while shooting arrows at people.”

“We know,” Malia snaps. “Half of us have been shot at.”

“You’re not in the hospital?” Steve points out.

“Werewolves heal,” the Asian girl says.

“So then you should understand why we need to stop it. Healing or not, it can’t feel good.”

“You’re sure it’s a new person, not the artifact bringing someone with those skills back?” Argent asks.

“What, from death? There’s only one artifact that brings someone back. A metronome that keeps a heart beating. But it’s at the Warehouse, I’m sure of it.” Or at least she’s ninety nine percent sure, but that might not be enough. It wouldn’t be the first time a supposedly captured artifact has been found outside of the Warehouse. “Why?”

Scott stares at the legs of the table across the room. “Because everyone in the room knows how the artifact started, and the girl is dead and it’s my fault.”

Most of the room denies it, whether verbally or through body language. Only two don’t. Stiles, who’s rubbing his face like he’s trying not to cry, and a curly haired kid who might rupture his cheeks if he frowns any harder. Every inch of Claudia wants to know more, study these fucked up kids like she’s seven and watching Degrassi with Claire. But she’s not relaxing in her old living room. She’s got neutralizing gloves in her back pocket, a Tesla still in her front, and somewhere out there is an object Artie’s probably already finding space for back home.

“Look. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure it sucked. I get suckage. My parents are dead, I thought my sister was dead until recently, and because I saw my brother get sucked into a portal and made the mistake of talking about it, I grew up on a mental ward. But regardless of how the artifact was made, we need to stop it. _Before_ people who aren’t also werewolves get shot in the throat, not the leg, preferably.”

“So what do you need from us?” Scott asks.

“I need a few of you who knew her best to sneak into her house and help me figure out what of her stuff is missing.”

Argent shakes his head. “She’s my daughter, you wouldn’t have to sneak. But I donated her things. Her room is a weapons cache now.”

“Oh. I get how that is,” she blatantly lies. “Donated. Okay. Whoever knows her wardrobe best needs to go to the thrift store and see what you don’t see.”

The broodiest of them speaks up for the first time. “Lydia, Isaac, Scott, Chris. You go. Once you figure out what’s not there, split into pairs with the rest of us and we’ll search those pieces out.”

“Peter, you might as well come inside now. We’re making teams.” Scott says. 

For a moment Claudia thinks he’s talking nonsense, but the front door opens again. That’d be a checkmark for the werewolves have super hearing question, then. The man who steps in is just that; definitely a man. Older than everyone else except Argent by at least a decade, if not more. Claudia knows better than to practice ageism. Myka, Pete and especially Artie are much older than she is, and that hardly makes them bad, or their relationships with her creepy. It’s not the age difference that raises her invisible hackles, it’s the way that most of the teens tense up when he walks in. She’ll be keeping her hand on the butt of her Tesla now, thanks.

The brawny one takes a step forward. It’s not much of a movement, but maybe werewolves are sensitive in their peripheral vision because everyone in the room twists to look at him. “Deucalion used to get Aiden and I to sketch his targets-”

“That doesn’t make sense. He can’t even see.”

The teen shrugs. “I ended up seeing a lot of what she wore.”

“Creepy, but useful,” Stiles replies.

After a short werewolf-n-company group huddle, broody guy starts calling out pairs. Claudia doesn’t know who’s what, but she has to guess that he’s dividing them by who can keep whom safe. Otherwise why pair Argent with the skinny Asian girl, or himself with the mouthy redhead?

“Isaac, you’re with Ethan.”

Malia shakes her head. “Oh _hell_ no am I with Peter.”

“Can we remember Peter doesn’t have a good track record with teens? Put him with Ethan. The guy just Never Been Kissed high school, he’s not actually sixteen.”

Isaac nods. “Yes. Do that. I’m not staying for live-action I Spy. I only came because you all told me Derek hallucinating Kate and sudden arrow injuries everywhere added up.”

“Even though it’s not Kate, people are still getting hurt. Just stay until we find the artifact.”

Isaac pulls on his hair. “Fine. But I’m with Peter. I’m not patrolling with anyone that’s going to try to convince me to stay, and we all know Peter doesn’t give a shit about anyone.”

Steve pointedly stares at Argent until the man gives him the Tesla back, then rejoins her. “We should split up too, since we’re the only ones who can actually put an end to this.”

Claudia nods. She agrees. If they were alone she wouldn’t, there’s no safety in leaving your partner. But if half of them are werewolves, if one member of every team is like Malia, that’s someone with twice her strength, twice her speed, twice her hearing, and there might be other sensory abilities that she hasn’t seen yet. Plus they can take an arrow without any repercussions, so hopefully they’d dive in front of her. She doesn’t exactly feel unprotected. 

“I’m gonna go with Isaac and Peter. That man gives me the creeps, and Stiles wasn’t lying about him having a bad track record with teengers, whatever that means. I don’t think I’d leave any teen with him.”

“Team Stiles.” Claudia doesn’t have to explain why. Steve knows. Stiles is obviously a talker, and Pete and Myka will both die if she doesn’t come back with every detail about freakin’ werewolves.

A few of them look like they’re itching to get outside. Before they can leave, Claudia raises her fingertips to her lips and whistles loudly.

“If you think you’ve found it and me or Steve aren’t there, text Scott or Isaac. We have special equipment for this.” She’s not going to tell them it’s just gloves and plastic bags. They’d want to have their own, and at least a few of them seem likely to keep the artifact if they find it.

Hours later Scott does emphatically _not_ get a text. They’re scanning a line formed outside a semi-renovated warehouse, looking for a set of red bangles that Scott swears weren’t at the thrift store when bone rattling howl pierces the air. Scott and Stiles start running in opposite directions, Scott much faster. Claudia freezes for a moment, not sure what to do next. As much as it pains her to say it, she really needs to take a page out of Artie’s book and start carrying a bag of harmless but useful artifacts. Surely there’s a pair of shoes in the Warehouse that make you go faster without breaking your toes or giving you an eating disorder. Then she takes off after Stiles, because there’s no way she’s gonna be able to catch Scott.

“Come on,” Stiles pants, half twisting so he can look over his shoulder at her. “We gotta get to the Jeep and catch up before Scott has to backtrack.”

“He runs faster than a car?”

“Generally, yes. Plus he’s the Alpha, and that makes a difference.”

Fucking werewolves and their crazy-ass abilities. Stiles has told her a lot about his Pack and what they can do, but she wants to see everything, and know more than that. As soon as Warehouse 13 transfers everything into 14 and leaves her without a job or purpose she’s coming back here. She can be an emissary, or whatever title Stiles said the human diplomats of a Pack get. Claudia can be diplomatic. She can be diplomatic as fuck. She was slated to be a Regent, after all.

By the time they’ve made it back to the Jeep, Claudia feels like her lungs are about to explode. Turns out a teenager who hangs out with wolves in life-threatening situations is better at sustaining a dead sprint than a twenty-something woman who spends her time in merely dangerous situations. She pulls herself into the passenger seat and lets Stiles take over. From what she can tell, he’s done the wildly drive after rampaging werewolves thing before. He’s got this, she can take charge once the artifact is in sight.

They follow Scott all the way to a five store stripmall. Four of the five stores are closed for the night, and the smoothie shop is open but empty. It’s a good thing, because shit is going down in the parking lot. Argent is propping up a guy in a bright red logo shirt that matches one of the closed stores. He’s got an arrow in his thigh, and Argent isn’t letting him take it out. Claudia would guess that’s a good idea, and even if she didn’t have a clue about basic first aid, she has to put her trust in a guy who makes weapons for a living to know what to do for weapons injury.

“Don’t worry, he’s going to live,” Stiles assures her. “Lydia hasn’t screamed.”

Claudia isn’t exactly sure what that means, but she’s not focused on figuring it out. Derek, Scott, Ethan and Malia are are all standing in a wide diamond around what appears to be nothing. Derek and Ethan both have arrows embedded in them, and are taking that turn of events much better than Polo Shirt on the ground is, considering he’s just passed out.

“We can’t see her. She disappeared as soon as she started shooting.”

“But we can smell her,” Ethan adds, explaining what exactly they’re doing.

“So if you could do your thing?”

Claudia steps forward. As she does Scott darts a few feet from the diamond and seems to catch nothing with arms stretched into a bear hug before pushing said nothing back to the middle of the diamond. Claudia takes another step and stops, distracted by the scene on the horizon and coming closer very rapidly. If she can’t take a minute out of her life to appreciate a teenage werewolf sprinting with Jinksy in a bridal carry she might as well be dead.

Isaac puts Steve down beside her. The wolves widen the diamond to a circle to make room just in time for Peter to get shot in the shoulder. No one seems particularly upset.

“Aerosolized, right?” Claudia is sure, she just wants to confirm.

“Can’t use a bag if we don’t know what to get rid of.”

It’s their show now. She sneaks around the side of the wolf circle until she’s behind Derek, and hides there until Steve is similarly situated behind Isaac. She locks eyes with him, and on a nearly telepathic count of 3-2-1 they both push between their shield and the werewolf to the left. Claudia puts her thumb on the depressor of the goo can and pushes as hard as she can. Once she’s got a continuous spray she cranks her arm up and down like a one man baseball stadium. Directly across from her Steve is doing the same, she trusts that without looking at him once.

And there is something to look at, something besides the band of werewolves intent on keeping them safe, even though she’s known Scott an hour and the rest of them for fifteen minutes max. Colour her Team Jacob for pro-loyal if she ever reads that shitshow series again. In front of her is an absence of goo in the shape of a person, and the more she sprays at wrist height, the more details the person gains.

“Those are her archery gloves!” Lydia exclaims.

That’s enough of a cue for Claudia. She darts forward, double checking one last time that she’s wearing her purple safety gloves and grabs the person by the wrist. The girl- as soon as Claudia sprays directly on her hands the artifact shorts out and a black haired girl appears in full.

Derek jumps in to help, the gentleman he is. He grabs her by the biceps, his supernatural strength acting better than manacles. The human bondage allows Claudia to pull the fingerless gloves off the teenager's hands. Steve is right beside her now, whipping a folded neutralizing bag so the air catches it and opens it wide. Claudia drops the gloves in happily. They spark enough to make her confident that the job’s done, but not much more than that. The violent reaction had already taken place, when the aerosolized goo hit them.

“Wait. Where’s the bow?”

“Are you stupid?” the girl asks. Claudia’s guessing she’s a little crazy, since she doesn’t seem to believe she’s in trouble, despite being surrounded by half-turned werewolves. “Do I look like Robin Hood to you? I don’t have a bow. I put my gloves on and arrows just form in my hand.”

Isaac frowns. “Wait. You’re not even shooting them, you’re throwing them?”

“Allison would be freaking out right now.” Scott mutters, sadly nostalgic.

Malia crosses her arms, hands placed carefully because she hasn’t yet drawn in her claws. “So if you knew that the gloves were making you attack people, why did you keep them?”

“Are you kidding right now? The gloves let me hurt people I’ve been wishing could suffer. Everyone at my dad’s work treats him like shit. That grocer stares at my twelve year old sister’s ass. You’re all gorgeous popular assholes. Also, don’t even try shaming me for keeping this, you all obviously have your own magical accessories that turn you into a monsters that absorb pain. I’ve shot you like four times!” She ends in a shout, pointing at Ethan. “Karen’s never going to make prom royalty with you and Danny around!”

“I think we can call 911 now. There’s no more weird stuff, right? Your goo stuff is done?” Kira is on the phone a moment later, as soon as Steve nods. She walks away from the group as her cell rings, obviously not wanting the recording devices to pick up any more conversation they might have to have.

Stiles gestures to the girl, and the bag in Steve’s hand, and to just about everything, honestly. He’s a guy in constant motion. “So, what’s your protocol for dangerous people using artifacts?”

“I mean, if they’re super dangerous, like world domination, destroying the planet dangerous, we turn them into bronze statues. But for this kind of stuff?” Claudia shrugs. “The arrows disappeared and we’re a secret government group. How are we supposed to hand this over to people like your dad?”

“You’re telling me you do nothing?” Derek snaps.

“People like my _dad_ know about things. People like _my dad_ will figure out a way.” Stiles’ eyes are fierce when he replies, like Claudia’s slandered him unforgivably. She doesn’t want him to feel that way, but she’s not sure how she’s supposed to apologise for what is essentially the truth. Even if the Sheriff specifically knows about the supernatural, she’s sure the whole department doesn’t.

“Or maybe we’ll just plant some arrows in your room,” Lydia says archly, trying to strike some fear into the girl’s heart. Claudia’s not sure it’ll work, but out of the whole group she’d give best odds to Lydia or Peter.

“If you’re done, the Pack’s got this end,” Scott says politely.

Claudia looks to Steve to get his opinion. In hers they’d got the artifact, stopped the aggressor and even got to find out monsters exist, but she’s not the only one on their team. In her opinion the real question is are they going to use the hotel room, or eat the expense and try to catch an evening flight?

Steve seems to agree, so it’s time to say a few quick goodbyes. It’s important they’re gone before the ambulance arrives, or Artie will flip. For that matter, she’d be willing to bet everyone but Kira fades away into the distance before any authority arrives. And Kira will only stay because her cell number will have compromised her, and it’ll be more suspicious if she’s not at the scene. At least Stiles says bye back, he can’t be that insulted on his father’s behalf.

Claudia starts hoofing it back to Argent’s condo. She doesn’t particularly want to walk that far, but that’s where they left the rental. Their only other option is getting a ride back with Stiles, and she knows him. If she gives him more than one minute he’ll start on miscarriages of justice, and Scott doesn’t seem like the kind of friend to make him shut up, even when he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Better to just walk. Steve’s following, she’s sure.

“Hey, Claudia?”

“Yes, Jinksy?”

“Isaac is coming with us.”

Claudia stops in her tracks and whirls around. Sure enough the curly haired kid is following Steve, who was following her. “Don’t you think you should ask Artie first?”

“Did _you_ ask Artie first?” Trick question from an asshole proving a point; he knows exactly how she wound up at the Warehouse.

“We don’t know anything about him. He could be a serial killer!” Everyone in that parking lot had seemed disturbingly okay with a stranger bleeding out, and with putting off that person’s care until the main drama was wrapped up.

“No, that’s Peter. I’ve only tried to kill a few people. Stiles and Jackson are fine, and the Oni killed Allison and Aiden, so I’m not gonna feel bad about that.”

“He’s a teenager who can’t stay here. He knows about artifacts. He asked some smart questions when we were walking around. Plus you can make him do the stuff you hate doing.”

Claudia stares him down, pointing at the teen for good measure.“You really want to smell like fudge and coat the insides of Ziploc bags with neutralising goo?”

“I love fudge,” Isaac says defiantly.

Claudia shrugs. At the moment she’s got a very live in the now attitude. Everyone at the Warehouse does. The round table didn’t exactly give them a date. There’s no progress bar inching towards one hundred percent. For once in the Warehouse’s life it’s doing something slowly and progressively, not instantly. They all appreciate every case a little more, no matter how ridiculous or life risking it is, because tomorrow could be the day that the Warehouse says no, we’re done now. If Isaac wants to get on at the last stop and ride it to the end of the line, what’s it to her, really?

“You better come up with a sob story. As soon as Artie notices we bought a third ticket he’ll be calling.”

Isaac tilts his head innocently. The curly hair really helps pull it off. “My abusive dad who used to lock me in a freezer got murdered by a lizard demon mind-controlled by a kid said dad neglectfully let nearly die. My best friends were kidnapped, tortured, kidnapped a second time by a different group, then murdered. My girlfriend died in battle, and spent the last seconds of her life in the arms of her ex, telling him how much she loved him. How about that?”

Claudia’s eyes widen. “Yep. I think that’s good. Is that all true?”

“I’m done with Beacon Hills for a reason.”

Claudia claps him on the back. It’s a hearty clap, but Isaac doesn’t move a centimeter. It’s probably the werewolf thing. That strength might actually come in handy, in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Canonical artifacts include: Edgar Allen Poe's quill and book, Edna St. Vincent Millay's candle, Magellan's astrolabe, the Chinese orchid, RMS Titanic's driftwood, Gandhi's sandals, Sylvia Plath's typewriter, Cinderella's knife, Johann Maelzel's metronome.
> 
> Artifacts I've made up include:  
> -Thomas Jefferson's swivel chair- spins and won't let you up until you compose an idea as fantastic as the Declaration of Independence that Jefferson wrote while sitting in it.  
> -Edward Villchur's hearing aids- let you hear miles in every direction, but overwhelms your senses.  
> -Alfred C Hobbs' lockpicks- picks that will open any lock, but only if you're showing off your picking skills to at least one other person.  
> and of course, Allison Argent's gloves, which make the wearer invisible and create and throw arrows with perfect aim, but have the negative effect of making you obsess about your enemies.


End file.
